


Making Merry

by jadey36



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve, and Robin has come calling on Guy intent on spreading some seasonal cheer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Merry

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop keep doing that!”

Grinning, Robin tosses his bow onto the large bed occupying the middle of the bedchamber, noting the new shiny black coverlet and matching pillowcases as he does so.

“Come on, Guy, you know it’s me. Who else chooses windows over doors? And you can put the sword down. I haven’t come to thieve your – correction – my silverware.”

“What have you come for, then?” Guy looks longingly at his sword, before sheathing it with a resigned shrug.   

“To offer you some seasonal cheer.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of busy right now.” Guy holds up a small bristled brush and a tin of polish and nods towards his black boots.

“Too busy to make merry with me?” Robin gives Guy a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“The last time I made merry with you, _outlaw_ , I was sore for days.” Guy grimaces, rubbing his backside as he does so.

Robin grins. “Well, I did warn you the vacuum cleaner attachments were a bad idea. Anyway, what are you so busy with that you can’t spare me a moment or two? It is Christmas Eve, after all.” 

“Exactly,” Guy says. “And Christmas Eve is when I put on my stockings.”

“Don’t you mean hang up?”

“No.” Sighing, Guy unbuckles his leather trousers. 

Robin lets out a snort of laughter.

“If you dare make even one stupid remark about this I’ll disembowel you,” Guy warns, tugging up the black stockings and reattaching one of the red velvet clasps to the matching suspender belt.

“If I knew we were going to role-play,” Robin says, struggling to keep a straight face, “I’d have worn my lacy pink knickers.”

“You do _not_ have lacy pink knickers.” Guy swears as he catches his fingers in one of the suspenders’ clips.   

“Actually, I do. You sent them to me last Christmas, remember?”

“How do you know I sent them to you? It was a Secret Santa.”

“Because Marian wouldn’t know sexy underwear if it came up and bit her on the nose.” 

“Ah!” Guy’s eyes light up. “Now we’re getting to the bottom – spare me the witticisms – of your untimely visit. Miss Icy Knickers has given you the heave-ho, so you thought you’d come and bother me.”

“For your information, Marian was busy this evening.”

“Busy avoiding you, more like.” Guy saunters over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and admires his reflection. “I told you,” – he curses when he notices a small run in the top of the stockings – “I’m busy. If I don’t get a move on, I’ll be late, and the sheriff doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially on Christmas Eve. He’ll have my balls for baubles.” 

Guy faces away from Robin. The last thing he wants the outlaw to see is the sprig of mistletoe he is reluctantly attaching to the waistband of his leather boxer shorts. 

“I think,” Robin says, nodding towards the window, “that you have a good excuse to be late. Indeed, a good enough excuse not to turn up at all.”

Without thinking, Guy turns to the window. Robin’s barely withheld laughter turns into a coughing fit that almost brings him to his knees. Which is probably a good thing considering what’s happening in his underpants. Even though he and Guy have been bonking each other for the past month – in between pretending to try to kill one another – there is no way Robin is going to let the bastard know that he’s gagging for it. 

Guy shrugs. “Snow, so what?”    

“So, it’s several inches thick and stiffening . . . I mean, deepening by the minute.”

“The sheriff will still expect me to—”

“The sheriff,” Robin cuts across him, “is presently trying to untangle a mile-long string of Christmas lights intended for the castle’s Christmas tree.”

“Rubbish! He has servants for that sort of thing.”

“Not tonight he doesn’t. I managed to convince all the guards, along with the castle staff, that the sheriff had said they could have the night off.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Guy starts to unclip the stockings.

“Er . . . leave them on,” Robin says, fidgeting. 

“Not bloody likely. They smell of nail polish, bird droppings and something else distinctly sheriff-y, which I’d rather not mention.” 

While Guy is rolling the stockings down his legs, Robin digs into his arrowless quiver and pulls out a flagon of mulled wine. “I was going to share this with Marian, but she’s doing her embroidery this evening, so I thought I’d share it with you.”

“Embroidery,” Guy scoffs. “Buffing that ridiculous mask she wears more like.”

“What ridiculous mask would this be?”

“The night watchman thingy. Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know all about it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Robin asks, secretly relieved that he can stop making up lies about the night watchman being a slim man who just happens to have very large pectoral muscles.

“Because I didn’t want anyone to catch wind that I knew the truth, especially Marian.  Dressed in her usual clothing, she doesn’t do a thing for me, but that outfit – long boots, tight pants and a leather jerkin that couldn’t hide a ping pong ball let alone a pair of tits – is quite a turn on.”

At the mention of Marian, his supposed betrothed, coupled with Guy having stepped back into his leather trousers, Robin finds his erection falling as fast as the snow outside.

“Christmas drink?” he asks, waving the flagon at Guy. 

“I suppose, seeing as it’s the season of goodwill and all that, that one drink can’t do any harm.”

Guy is clearly still in a less than generous mood despite not having to suffer his usual Christmas torment at the hands, not to mention the gold-toothed mouth, of Sheriff Vaisey. 

Hoping a goblet of mulled wine might make Guy a little friendlier and a little less likely to charge at him with a drawn sword, Robin heads off to Locksley’s kitchens to warm it up. 

Meanwhile, Guy tosses the piece of mistletoe on the bed and grins. Nothing like letting the arrogant, cocksure Robin Hood think his luck’s not in tonight. Guy slides a hand between his legs and stifles a moan. Later. 

~

Several large goblets of warm spiced wine later, the sheriff and Marian long since forgotten in favour of a game of trading insults, Robin tips the flagon upside-down, dismayed when he finds it empty.

“Do you have any more of that stuff?” Guy asks, his words punctuated by a series of undignified hiccups.

“How big do you think my fucking quiver is?”

“Nowhere near as big as mine,” Guy says with a wink.

“There must be some wine lurking in the cellars,” Robin suggests. “Shall we go investigate?”

“Go by yourself. I really don’t think I can move from this bed right now.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why not? Afraid the ghost of Christmas past will come to haunt you?”

“No, afraid of the dark.”

Guy guffaws. “Robin-hero-of-Acre-the-big-I-am-Hood, afraid of the dark!”

“Shut up, it isn’t funny.”

“It is from where I’m sitting.” Guy pats the coverlet, reminding Robin of the last time they got up to naked shenanigans. A puzzled Marian had stood in the doorway to the bedchamber demanding to know why Guy was sitting in bed in the middle of the day drinking wine and appearing hale and hearty. Meanwhile, a naked Robin lay under the black covers, heart pounding, his fear of the dark almost overriding his fear of Marian’s wrath should she discover him there.

“Anyway, I’m too woozy to go all the way down to the cellar,” Robin says, wiggling himself upright on the leather-covered chair. “Why don’t you go?”

“Because this is your house.”

“Not the last time I looked, it wasn’t.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. We’ll both go, all right?”

Guy lurches off the bed and, after a couple of attempts, successfully finds the door. 

Robin grins. “I think I’ll lead.”

Grabbing a flaming torch en route, the two men steal through the slumbering house – the servants having long since retired to their quarters – and head for the cellars, Guy behind Robin. 

“What’s that?” Robin hisses, as they skirt around the wooden casks, looking for a wine that tickles their fancy. 

“What’s what?”

“That, poking into me?”

“Oh, that’s my Christmas cracker.”  Guy presses suggestively into Robin’s back and winds his arms around the outlaw’s chest.

“Well, save it until we’re back upstairs, and help me fill this flagon.”

“Actually, I could do with a piss,” Guy says letting go of Robin.

“Save that as well,” Robin tells him, unstopping a wine-filled barrel and filling up the flagon.

~

Sometime later, after several wrong turns and a stumble into a very tempting broom cupboard, Robin and Guy find themselves back in the main bedchamber. 

Robin eyes the piece of mistletoe lying on the bed. “Want to play rude alphabet _I-Spy_?”

“You and your childish games.” Guy sighs. “Go on, then. As it’s Christmas.”

Upon failing to find a suitably filthy word for the letter Q, both men well aware of the other’s mounting state of excitement, Guy picks up the piece of mistletoe and pats the bed. “Time for your Christmas present, I think.”

“It’s not Christmas Day yet,” Robin protests, partly because he’s a traditionalist and partly because, unbeknownst to Guy, he spunked himself somewhere around the letter M. 

“I beg to differ.” Guy points at the window.

He is right. The first blush of dawn is clearly visible through the closed shutters. 

Knowing he might need a little help rising to the occasion, Robin pours and hands Guy a large goblet of wine, remembering that Guy has yet to relieve himself. Guy, forgetting that he has yet to relieve himself, accepts the wine.

They go back to A, reach P, Robin feels recharged, and Guy remembers, too late, what he meant to do earlier.

~

“Ouch,” Guy protests, as Robin clambers back on top of him for the third time. “Is this how you ride your horse?”

“I walk mostly.” Robin grits his teeth, trying to concentrate both on the encouraging tickle between his legs and not falling onto the wooden floorboards. 

“Remind me to give you lessons sometime soon.” Guy fixes his eyes on Robin’s chest hairs and idly wonders if he should stop shaving his own chest.

“Don’t worry. I will.” Robin closes his eyes, almost loses it when he imagines Guy’s house-staff puzzling over the wet sheets and then gets it back when Guy gives an unbridled groan of pleasure. “This better?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes,” Guy says. “Good rhythm, almost perfect saddle, tight thighs.”

“Good.” There is sweat beading on Robin’s forehead. “Because there’s a high fence coming up, possibly a double-hedged water jump.” With a throaty cry of abandon, he shudders and then slumps on top of Guy. “Cleared it,” he says, a triumphant note in his voice.

Without giving the outlaw time to recover his breath, Guy rolls them over and proceeds to show Robin just what a good horseman he is. 

~

“Business as usual tomorrow?” Robin says, shouldering his bow and preparing to climb out the window.

Guy plucks the piece of crumpled mistletoe from his backside. “Business as usual.”

“Happy Christmas, Gisborne.” Robin blows Guy a kiss.

“Happy Christmas, Hood,” Guy says distractedly, intent on wrapping the black leather thong he hopes will placate the sheriff after his failure to turn up last evening.

With a head thumping almost as loudly as the bed head bashing against the wall during their enthusiastic sex earlier on, Robin falls off the window ledge.

Fortunately for the outlaw, the snow is deep.

**The end**


End file.
